Rebirth & Ruin
by RabbitWrites
Summary: Modern AU/Many-Pairings. 1999. Lenneth is a struggling singer in Flenceburg—a scene rich with unrest, crime and all of the lost souls caught within a concrete web. When she lands a gig in a club called Ragnarok, she becomes one eccentric man's obsession.
1. just a bad dream & it always rains here

_**Rebirth & Ruin  
><strong>Rating: M. Sexual situations, drug use, violence.  
>Disclaimer: I don't own Valkyrie Profile or it's characters. They belong to Tri Ace and Square Enix. This is a nonprofit fan project for personal use and writing practice. Credits where due. <em>

_ Lenneth/Lezard | Lenneth/Lucian | Alicia/Rufus | Odin/Hel | Loki/Frei | Brahms/Silmeria  
><strong><br>**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Just A Bad Dream<br>| BGM:**__edie__**—**__entendu | __** /zIkc1SniLNg |**_

The way Richelle squirmed on the floor would have been hypnotic and sensual on any other night. But she lay there, trusting and lost in the throes of ego death, her buttons undone and silk robe draped over her breasts.

At one point, she had been such a beautiful woman. Long, silvery-blonde hair and crystal blue eyes with a voluptuous and healthy body. But in a mere span of a year, she had gone from a worthy prima donna to the writhing train wreck on the floor.

Soft moans crossed her lips as her arms curled over her head and pressed into a stray pillow. Richelle was completely dead to the world for just a short window of time, entrusting her withered, physical body to the man standing over her.

Had she known that he had brought more than just her favorite score, more than the bitter, saccharine smiles of a disillusioned lover and a knife tucked away in his jacket, she would have not shared that last hit for "old time's sake."

Her lover knelt down over her, taking in the sighed words of nonsense she uttered. His fingertips traced through her gossamer hair and then over the contour of her soft jaw.

A knife plunged into her right side, just below her arm. Richelle could only give a strangled yelp, lost in a completely different world that had shifted from paradise to purgatory in the blink of an eye. Her arm gave the slightest twitch, but even in the worst trips, the stoic woman had never been one for hysterics.

She gave in to the pain and the bleeding, cardiac muscles pierced and wrenching to a stop. Her glassy blue eyes widened in shock, meeting his as her jaw dropped in wordless agony. There was a soft smile on his face; to her, an oneironaut without a body, he looked like a god who had just passed judgment on her. Richelle watched his lips move—the lips of that transcendent, embittered being—but she heard nothing.

Richelle called out for the man who was supposed to be there with her; to save her from that creature holding her in its arms and digging it's claws into her ribs and lungs. Struggling for control over the long, muddy-brown wings that had once been her arms, she reached out.

He caught her wrist in one hand, never breaking that gaze until her world faded away completely. It was just a dream… a bad trip… a nightmare. She was going to wake up soon, she reassured herself. Wake up in her flat, surrounded by her violet walls, and her generous lover would be there with anything she wanted.

"Lezard…?" Richelle pleaded, tasting blood, "…L-Lezard… wa-wake me up…"

"Shh," She heard his voice say from somewhere beyond that black veil, "…go to sleep, Richelle. It's just a bad dream."

The rain had lifted over Mimisbrunnr, giving it the scent of wet concrete. When Lezard stepped out of flat #504 on the quaint and relatively darkened Salander St, he was followed by a much taller, bulkier man with a shaved head by the name of Belanus. Slung over the oaf's broad shoulder was a black duffel bag with the faint scent of blood.

Richelle's dead body gave the occasional twitch and jerk from within the bag, resulting in a very annoyed expression on Belanus's thick features. Unceremoniously, the giant threw her into the back of a dark blue car and climbed in after Lezard.

As unnoticed as they had arrived, the men left #504, having never been seen. The floors had been scrubbed of her blood and any trace of their presence that evening. Should anyone come looking for Richelle, she could have found solace in the fact that anyone could question her last place of work and find rumors of her rocky relationship with the man driving away with her corpse.

But the sad truth of the matter—the truth that Lezard had foreseen long before it would have ever crossed Richelle's mind was that no one would come looking for her. The body in the back seat of the little, dark blue car was a bit of a thorn that few approached and even pricked those who did. Her bitter life had come and gone without consequence. The sibling less Richelle's parents were dead and her only friends only put on a smile for her to silence that barbed tongue.

It would be three weeks before anyone even noticed she was gone. It would be four weeks before anyone tried calling her—albeit, in response to an old ad she'd placed in a paper advertising her services as a model—and that would only be from a desperate scout who stumbled upon the dated newspaper lying on a bench and found her photo to be absolutely mesmerizing.

In fact, that very photo had been taken by the man who had just killed her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>It Always Rains Here<br>| BGM:**__mitsuko suzuki__**—**__a piece of remain__**|  /IEPXJlhGZJ8 |**_

"So, now I want to talk about a wonderful little dish for the vegetarians in your life. Sometimes you have to plan dinners around this when you have a vegetarian in the family, but you also want to make something the whole family can enjoy," Sylphide Sweet flashed the audience a wink and a soft smile as she crossed over to a refridgerator, "So I'm going to share a lovely pasta recipe that's hearty enough for all you omnivores out there. We've got our pot filling with water for the pasta over there, and I'm going to—"

Lenneth switched off the television, having not listened to it in the last half hour. It had droned in the background as she scurried about the apartment, dabbing on last minute make up and putting the braid into her long, gossamer hair. At that moment in time, she was more interested in finding her misplaced high heels.

"Aw, no Sylphide Sweet?" Lucian came out of the kitchen with a half-empty mug of coffee. He leaned in the doorway and watched Lenneth with an admiring smile.

"What?" Lenneth questioned with genuine confusion.

"Nothing," Lucian shook his head, blond curls bouncing slightly with the motion, "I was just curious about that vegetarian dish."

"You're not becoming a vegetarian are you?"

With a half-laugh and a sip of his coffee, Lucian shrugged, "What if I was?"

"Good luck," Lenneth said with some amusement in her search, "I burn everything I cook. At least burnt meat tastes better than burnt vegetables."

"Platina… you look beautiful."

As Lenneth crossed the living room toward the hall, Lucian hooked an arm about her dainty waist and pulled her close. His embrace was always a sunny one—something warm that had a way of melting the icy woman's exterior. She welcomed his kiss, as quick as it was, like a brief calm in the middle of a storm. For that second, she was no longer in an anxious hurry to find her coat and shoes, but just a happy girl in her handsome lover's arms.

"Lucian, we're running late," Lenneth glanced away, sidelong to their bedroom at the end of the hallway, "I really need to go get my coat. Badrach's going to give us hell if we're not on time."

A miffed expression crossed Lucian's face as he reluctantly released her. Lenneth felt a twinge of guilt, but it was nothing she wasn't used to. He was always a bit too sensitive for his own good. Hopefully, she thought, this wouldn't set off a foul mood to last the whole night. She hurriedly retrieved her long, taupe coat and located her black high heels. With little more word, the couple departed into the rainy streets of Flenceburg.

They were lucky to have caught a taxi with as much ease as they had. Lenneth would have made an attempt at an optimistic comment had she not noticed the slight pout in Lucian's expression as he stared out the rainy window. She glanced at him—an unmet gaze—and then looked past him at the darkening gray light that lit the streets. The street lamps were coming on one by one as night fell. But soon enough, they left the unkempt streets of Folksvangr and weaved through the clean-cut streets of Mimisbrunnr.

Neither had said anything by the time they arrived at the small club on the edge of upper Mimisbrunnr, tucked between two large parking lots, all filled with sleek, clean cars. Near the far end, she recognized Arngrim's beaten-down red sedan—knowing him, he would have been the first one there… probably to complain about the riders and pretend, for a short moment, that he was a diva.

The only good thing about Badrach's was the lighting, truth be told. The couple paid the cab driver and stepped inside, to that familiar, deep gold warmth inside. It was dulled and warm, like the flickering of a fireplace's glow on deep, scarlet walls. This was going to be their third show there with Sleepnear.

Arngrim and Rufus met her back stage with Gerald. As per usual, Arngrim and Gerald were in each other's faces about something or other while Rufus paced around popping chocolate candies like pills. His green eyes lit up when Lenneth stepped in, "Hey! The Queen's arrived, boys, look alive!"

"Sorry I'm late," Lenneth apologized, "Time… you know how that goes."

Rufus greeted Lucian with a playful fist to the shoulder and then nodded to Lenneth, "Queens are never late—everyone else is just early."

She had to admit, Rufus always managed to bring a smile to her face.

Arngrim and Gerald continued to bicker—her sense was that it was over the song line up that they had agreed on in the last session. Lenneth furrowed her brow, "Is there a problem?"

"Badrach had a last minute request that we only do covers again tonight. Personally, I'm alright with that, Gerald's alright with that, but Arngrim's… not alright with that."

"You're damn right I'm not alright with that, Sleepnear's not no goddamn cover band," Arngrim barked in Rufus's direction—to which Rufus simply put his hands up, palm-out in casual defense and stepped back toward the candy dish. Rufus picked up the remote control and flicked on the television to a newscaster talking about serial kidnappings. It only took all of five seconds for Rufus to change it to cartoons.

"Platina," Lucian whispered, "I'm going to step outside, what do I tell Badrach if I see him?"

"Hold on," Lenneth shut her eyes for a moment and then addressed Arngrim, "Alright. I'm pissed about that, too. Our contract was to come in with at least two of our own songs per show, everything else was up to Badrach. So you're right, this isn't what we signed on for. Did Badrach say why?"

Lenneth knew why... and yet, she asked anyway.

"Because of your song choice, Lenneth," Gerald muttered. He crossed past Arngrim, his aura of hot-headedness utterly blaring, "Just give it up, we're better off as a cover band. None of our songs are that great, you know the people around here have problems with the lyrics. This is a religious crowd. This is a religious town these days."

"They can kiss our ass," Arngrim growled, arms folded.

"It's not like our songs are about worshipping Hel or something," Lenneth retorted.

"That's the problem—they're not about worshipping anything!" Gerald fumed.

"We don't do gospel, baby, thought you caught on to that." Rufus chimed from his cozy seat on the sofa.

Lenneth took a breath to think and Gerald rambled on, "Lenneth, let's just do what Badrach says this time, yeah? This guy's paying us. Hell, if we fuck up again, he just won't pay us, and I don't know about you all, but I like having something moderately stable. I like having a good reputation."

"I say…" Lenneth began, cutting off Arngrim before he could get back in Gerald's face. Her bandmates fell silent and looked her way. She paused at that moment—she was the singer, not the leader. But still, they looked to her as the frontwoman. It was more responsibility than she would have liked. Especially when the band was originally Rufus's idea.

"…I say we do what's written in the contract. If Badrach has a problem with it, has a problem with who we are, then the tosspot can consider us out. We're not reimaging ourselves to fit the needs of our employers."

Gerald bit his lower lip and silently fumed as Arngrim gave Lenneth a knowing and approving smile. Rufus clapped loudly and then raised his arms with a victorious, "That's damn right!"

"Consider this my last gig with you guys, then," Gerald said with a huff—it garnered little response from the others, decidedly—and added, "…I've got a little girl to worry about. I'm getting to old to keep chasing this pipe dream like some high school student. Start looking for a new drummer."

"It was an honor," Lenneth said, before Arngrim could chime in with some vulgarity-laced form of, 'Good riddance!'

"Right, then," Arngrim regathered his composure and led the way to the stage, "We're on. Places, everyone. We follow the script, we see what happens, then we get smashed off our asses."

Murmurs and whispers hung over the stage like a cloud of sour smoke. When the wild songs had ended, hushed voices came from people-shaped silhouettes, barely illuminated by the tiny paper lamps at the center of each table.

The slow, dreamy notes of a guitar rolled into the air, breaking the silence. The singer under the flood light at the center of stage could feel the audience's disapproval.

It wouldn't be the first time that she left the stage after thoroughly offending half the audience. There was sometimes slight applause, but she had a feeling there would be more complaint after the show.

After singing "Marionette," people were shifting in their seats, as though expecting a bolt of lightning to strike them for even being in the presence of such a blasphemer.

Lenneth exhaled, letting her tension slip past her lips as she stepped up once more to the microphone. The soft pluck of an electric guitar and the familiar beat was pulling her back into the other world where none of these disgusted eyes could see her. They could only hear her. Rufus's fingers strummed the melody of "Tiny Breaths" and her lips shaped the words that followed. Something a little happier…

_"If the earth were to catch another moon one day,_  
><em>If it could, if it could,<em>  
><em>Would you count two?<em>  
><em>Black moon, silver moon..."<em>

She closed her eyes, imagining the crying little girl she had seen on the walk to Badrach's in North Flenceburg. The child had shifted her umbrella just slightly and the ever-present Flenceburg rain cascaded onto her little blonde head. Her mother had held her hand and scolded her as Lenneth watched from the back of a taxi.

_"If the wind were to_  
><em>carry us all away one day,<em>  
><em>If it will, if it will,<em>  
><em>Would we find heaven?<em>  
><em>Empty, old and bare,"<em>

Her voice danced over the words and she knew the world around her was gone. The audience that had given the silver-haired songstress such confused looks had hushed once more and she felt relief; perhaps there would not be complaint that night? The guitar's melody became a haunting B flat as they went on in a tune reminiscent of the tiny music box that sat upon her dresser at home.

_"Little leaves make ballet_  
><em>On cobblestones at my toes<em>  
><em>Air smells like rain today<em>  
><em>autumn's here, grandma knows<em>

_Little thoughts as a child_  
><em>I miss all the simple notions<em>  
><em>Barefoot through rivers wild<em>  
><em>summer's here, sweaty motion<em>

_If one day I were to_  
><em>become a little girl again<em>  
><em>If I should, if I should<em>  
><em>Would you be angry?<em>  
><em>Is it a selfish thing to do?"<em>

Perhaps her choice of lyrics was a selfish thing, she would later think. Singing then, she had only a typical premonition that Mr. Badrach would tell her the same thing that all the others did.

_"If one day I were to_  
><em>fall asleep and dream forever<em>  
><em>If I did, if I did,<em>  
><em>Would you be happy?<em>  
><em>Is it a selfless thing to do?<em>

_Little burdens color our days_  
><em>Oh, coveting your neighbor's wife<em>  
><em>Longing for her in many ways<em>  
><em>spring's here, lusty lies<em>

_Little people carving streets_  
><em>Half-lidded eyes and sleepy lips<em>  
><em>carried on feathers of fatigue<em>  
><em>winter's here, aching hips"<em>

After the final song, she had given the audience a brief thanks, but her mind was on the object of her desire. She returned to the dressing room in silence, pulling off her blue and black dress and throwing on a more comfortable black shirt, a pair of tan pants, and her taupe coat. Lucian waited for her in the hallway as she lit a cigarette. She knew she was going to need it. He did not look pleased.

"Fired again, I'm guessing?" The songstress asked him as she joined him in the corridor. They walked together, leaving the now-empty club to begin a chilled, rainy walk home.

Lucian rolled his eyes, "He just gave me the cash and told me not to come back. You should have heard the shit that man said. I told you this wouldn't last. We're lucky the guy was nice enough to even pay us. Usually they just don't. How many times are we going to have to do this, Platina?"

She hated when he called her Platina.

Her name was Lenneth.

Rather than listen to Lucian, Lenneth was more interested in the clicks of her high heels on the marble tile as they made their way out of Badrach's. She was not up to thanking the manager, Mr. Badrach for his patronage, nor was she up to hearing Lucian complaints about the premature end of their business relationship.

What did he expect? It had happened on a monthly basis and they had only just gotten the gig after having to wait a few months for the rumors from their last show to die down. Badrach had even heard mutterings of the songstress with "tasteless, blasphemous lyrics" but he had given them a chance to entertain his customers.

Lenneth knew she had more pride than she needed. Lenneth found it amusing that it was one chance and she blew it. Lenneth was uninterested in returning anyway. Not if she was singing to an audience that was arrogant enough to take offense to a song that wasn't even about them.

This was not a world where happy couples stayed married and faithful; this was a world where families were split and spouses committed lustful infidelities. This was a world where bitter people bought slaves to keep their estates spotless and treated them like garbage. This was a world where just north of the "peaceful" country of Flenceburg was a world in political shambles. Artolia, Crell Monferaigne, New Dipan and everything in between were raped and ravaged by war.

Lucian was something of a manager ti the little band called Sleepnear. He also managed her small solo stint, where she went by Valkyrie. He was a crafty businessman at only nineteen, and almost four years her junior. They had been an inseparable pair for ten years. As children, they were innocent sweethearts, and as adults, they were both lovers and business partners. Lenneth could only describe the combination as "overcomplicated."

Without the orange glow of the streetlamps, the rainy city would have been a blackened cobblestone blur to her tired eyes. Her head was swimming and her heart was racing for one, delicious thing. She would get it soon just a gram was all she needed. Sweet Garnet, like ruby-colored powdered sugar. She had a good 15,000 OTH from the show. It wasn't much, but it would get her the next hit and it would help pay the bills.

Lenneth stuffed her hands into her coat pockets for warmth. She felt a piece of thick paper in the left and furrowed her brow. When had she stuck a piece of paper in her pocket? As she pulled it out, she wondered further; when had she last had access to such nice paper? The light cardstock was small, like an index card, and had something scribbled on it in very bold, upright cursive.

"Platina? Are you even listening to me?"

She hadn't been. Lenneth figured it must have been a piece of her "journal" that she had stuffed in her pocket. Exhaling the soothing smoke she answered, "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm just a bit tired. I need another hit."

Lucian looked at her for a moment, eyes filling with concern. He sighed and his face softened, "Don't worry. We'll stop off at Arngrim's place and get some. Rufus is probably already there."

"Did you fight with Badrach?"

Lucian smirked, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't."

"He might have had us do another gig later on if you didn't."

"I know. But I just can't stand the crowd. So obsessed with their beliefs that if anyone even suggests questioning it they flip their fucking lids. Some people complained about your lyrics, as always. About gods not existing. About Odin being gone." Lucian explained.

"Because Odin is gone. Gods don't exist." Lenneth spoke quietly.

He put his arm around her waist and held her close as they walked. His body was warm, Lenneth noted. She shifted comfortably against him. Lenneth smiled up at the man with the gold curls and he smiled back at her with all the love in Midgard. It was moments like this that made Lenneth grateful for him. She would be so alone without him, Lenneth knew.

"Don't be sad, alright? We'll get another gig somewhere in Folkvangr. At least in that part of town, they appreciate thoughtful music, right? Might not get as much pay, but shit, it'll be worth it if we can just get a more positive reputation."

"I should just stop writing the songs. I'll just sing Rufus's stuff from now on."

"I love your music, though."

"It gets us nowhere. It isn't worth pursuing."

Lucian pulled a black plastic package from his pocket and tapped it against his palm. He pulled out a clove cigarette just like the one Lenneth smoked and she lit it for him with the burning tip of her own. They walked and smoked side by side.

"You need to quit these," Lucian sighed, rich smoke escaping his lips, "You'll ruin your voice. Then we'll really be in the poor house."

Lenneth laughed, "Don't joke. We're already there."

They walked in silence. Few cars drove by that late at night. Only the rain drumming on stone and clay rooftops reminded her that she was not walking through a dark abyss. The sound of rain on rooftops became a hollow, aluminum rattle as they entered the slummier Folksvangr borough in lower Flenceburg.

It was far from the bottom of the bottom... but it was twice as far from the middle class district they had passed through. Lenneth took interest at the sound of yelling coming from one home with lit windows; a man and woman arguing over something while a child cried somewhere in the house. Lenneth sighed and snuffed out her cigarette, saving the remainder for later.

More silence. As much as she loved Lucian, Lenneth knew that they spent much of their time like this. Silent… at least they weren't bickering like that couple she had overheard. She imagined they must live around very unhappy neighbors.

"I miss my sisters, Lucian." Lenneth finally said.

Perhaps it wasn't the best topic to break the silence with. Perhaps the poison that worked its way through the veins of that arguing couple had somehow found its way into her own bloodstream. All that Lenneth knew for certain was that she had spoken without thinking and Lucian would be reminded of Hrist.

"...Silmeria and Hrist," Lenneth smiled, "It's been such a long time. I want to see them again."

Lucian looked ahead of them, silent, as if he had not even heard a word she said.

When he spoke, he had changed the topic quite abruptly, "You need to go home and practice more. Your last song was a bit weak. You sounded like you were losing it a bit toward the end."

Lenneth lowered her head, thinking back on her last performance. "Tiny Breaths" was a favorite of hers to sing and close their shows with. She wondered if her garnet cravings had gotten in the way. She was exhausted without it. She had done her best to hide it.

"...so that's it then? Just blowing off what I said?" Lenneth said. She kicked herself mentally for snapping at him like that. A part of her felt justified-he didn't have to be so harsh. Yet another part of her felt that she was voicing her disappointment the wrong way. It was going to start a fight, she knew it.  
>Not another fight... she was cursing herself internally for that.<p>

"That... that wasn't it, Platina. What I meant was..." Lucian muttered as they stopped at a corner. There was no car in sight, but the stop lights still shifted through a cycle of red, yellow, and green.

"Don't call me that." Lenneth spoke as they crossed the street. She felt as if she had no control over what she said. The cravings were talking now, "I need more Garnet. Can we get that at least?"

"Platina, you know that stuff's going to kill us both. I think it's about time we stopped doing this, maybe get hooked on something milder and work our way to being clean again," Lucian said.

Lenneth laughed at the thought of Lucian being clean. He did worse drugs than she did. Garnet was like mere cannabis compared to the chemical cocktails he injected and crystals he burned to a thread-like vapor. He was preaching to the choir. Garnet was all she ever needed and all she ever wanted.

"You know, you always give that same speech when you try and fail to quit. Why even try? We're where we are now, living on what we love. We're all dying anyway. We might as well feel good while we're at it."

"Don't say that..."

"Just hurry up with the umbrella. I'm getting rained on over here." Lenneth said, flashing him a teasing smile. He hurried after her, carrying the umbrella and frowning just slightly. She knew that he understood her point. It was the philosophy he gave her years ago, before she got into garnet. Now they were both at the bottom of the barrel. Not that they had ever been anywhere else, she thought.


	2. politics & dulcet girl

_**Politics  
>| BGM: <strong>motoi sakuraba** — **divine view** | youtu(.)be/a33xRlS2G_o |**_

"Prime Minister Elle Halja is scheduled to make an appearance today at Parliament Hill to speak of the latest vandalisms and hate crimes in Mimisbrunnr. Halja is said to be approaching Overhammer supporters with a strong anti-war position. Overhammer's CEO, Brahms Lugosi was contacted for comment today, saying—"

Elle flicked the television off with a clap. She rubbed at her temple with frustrated silence, reclining in a black leather chair that left her with little comfort. Behind her was a grand view of Ithavoll from forty floors up. Not even that soothing sight could bring her mind back from its reeling state. Of course Brahms would have something to say about all of this—about the Artolian War. About her "bleeding heart" stance on Flenceburg's neutrality. About the weapons in the soldiers' hands growing 'dusty and rusty' without use. Weapons that Flenceburg had commissioned from Overhammer in the first place!

He wanted war, and moreover, wanted Valhalla Industries to be crushed under political instability. That much was for damned certain. Both Brahms and the media seemed to forget that he was a CEO—not an elected representative of the people.

"No one wants war, Elle. You know that."

Elle looked over to the Valhalla CEO seated across the room. Upon one of two black leather couches, he'd lost track of his words before the news cut in to cover a breaking story about three murders in Mimisbrunnr. Silence had fallen over them as the newscaster described the deaths of the three Artolian immigrants, followed by harsh criticisms from civilians that somehow pinned the blame on Halja.

Through it all, the man had watched it with an ever-present smile. She appreciated that confidence—insolence, even—in Woten Vates. The businessman before her was one of those shining examples of a CEO who should have been a politician. Then again, in such times, the line was increasingly blurred.

Woten turned to her with that handsome assurance. His graying, dirty-blonde hair and olive eyes had a way of capturing everyone in the room; even she, who vocally rejected the sheer notion of attraction to another human being. Elle knew that look—the wheels in Woten's head were turning. Of course they were. The man always had a plan.

"What are you grinning about?"

Woten shrugged, "You just look so perturbed by Brahms. You didn't even hear him out. He may have had something kind to say about you this time."

Such a sense of humor!

"I don't need any more criticism from him. My popularity just… plummets with every syllable that comes out of that man's mouth. It sickens me a little that the people would rather get swept up in his warmongering than consider the effects war would have on this country." Elle leaned forward, elbows on the mahogany desk, "…his supporters… his extremists… I'm sure this is all some elaborate web to make the Artolians look like pagan infiltrators of some sort. It's in Ithavoll because people here are devout. They'll have none of this Artolian witchcraft."

Elle pursed her lips slightly, vocalizing her thoughts, "…it's some kind of reuse, I'm sure. Rile people up. Graffiti Artolian religious symbols all over the shop… and everyone eats up every word that comes with an Overhammer logo printed on it."

"Ithavoll would be the last to dive in on Overhammer's warmongering." Woten said.

With a shake of the head, Elle said, "Not quite true. Give it time. Even the stubborn bourgeoisie can be swayed. Especially when their revenue is threatened. The people of Folksvangr push for immigration restrictions… there goes the cheap labor. Ithavoll begins to crack. War starts to sound like a good idea. Overhammer encourages nationalist ideas… it's a mess out there, Woten. Flenceburg has had over five hundred years of peaceful neutrality. I'm not about to lose that while I'm in office."

Woten was quiet for a time. Elle took a little pleasure in that silence. When he stood and made a slow path toward her desk, she eyed him with annoyance. She knew exactly what solution he would suggest; it was the same one he always offered when Brahms was getting too far out of line.

"Brahms doesn't have to be around, you see… we've discussed this. It wouldn't be hard to just… hush a certain voice that doesn't speak softly in the library, as it were. After all, you are right. Flenceburg isn't a place of violence. We are a place of… knowledge and reverence for our blessed gods." Woten grinned.

"Bless, but not everyone believes that," Elle countered as she watched his every step with slightly hypnotized eyes—she was hardly enamored, but she did admire the man's silver tongue and way of speaking, "Twelve Artolian immigrants are dead, now. This morning, a woman was reported missing in Folksvangr. Artolian. May or may not be related. When war versus anti-war extremists start targeting the innocent, someone has to step in."

"That is true. So why not end Overhammer's ability to support these extremists?"

"We don't know officially if Overhammer is actively putting any kind of support into these groups outside of a few questionable comments Brahms has made. This is a more delicate issue than you realize. It would only be one of many problems that would arise if Overhammer was slapped on the wrist for something it's supporters—it's many supporters—feel is just vocalizing the 'truth.' Artolian immigrants turn up dead or missing? Overhammer's fans speak out on how the 'enemy doesn't belong here anyway.' If we silence Overhammer or it's… 'leader' then it's going to look an awful lot like we're turning our backs on the majority."

There was such a sick, sad truth in that, Elle noted. Those vocal, angry, bitter voices speaking out against innocent people… this should not be the voice of the majority. This should not be the popular opinion. Hate should never be the majority… when had Flenceburg—great, intellectual Flenceburg—fallen so low?

"You're too sympathetic, my dear," Woten said, tracing his fingertip over her polished desk, "A good leader knows you can't please everyone. Sometimes, decisions that seem enraging in the beginning are ultimately better in the long run. It's about time you show Flenceburg this. Instead of taking a neutral approach, why not get involved? You know Valhalla is behind the idea of peace and global networking and always will be."

'Peace' and 'global networking' sounded good—but Elle knew Woten well enough to know that any sort of alliance was made with money in mind. Not the people. He just wanted to expand his little business endeavor into more territories... have finance, will travel.

There was truth in his words, however… she couldn't please everyone no matter how desperately she wanted to. Above all, she would give anything to ensure safety to her constituents. She'd come into the political game hoping to break the mold. Elle hadn't been born into the role with wealthy parents from Ithavoll to push her into law. Luck had brought her there... that had to be a sign enough of a change the country needed.

Go to war with Gerabellum and Artolia, hope they win, rape the countries of their natural resources and fossil fuels... just the economic explosion Flenceburg could use. Overhammer would have no problem swaying the people into a hype of self importance.

Avoid conflict with Gerabellum and Artolia, negotiate through business and resource allocation, enrage the already-tense population but have a better payout in the long haul? Valhalla Industries would just be looked at as the big, bad, mega conglomerate that, in all truth, they really were.

Elle lowered here head and thanked the gods that she did not have to make a decision right away… but that was no excuse not to be thinking about the issue day and night. The day was fast-approaching. Crell Monferaigne was their unspoken ally... and it was a sitting duck to its aggressive neighbors. Gerabellum and Artolia were a threat enough—they did not need Crell Monferaigne's arsenal in their hands as well.

"Ms. Halja? Your four o'clock is here," came the voice of her chestnut-haired assistant. Chrystie poked her head through the door and her eyes noticeably widened when Woten turned to her with a pleasant expression.

Elle nodded and said, "I'll be right down. Thank you, Chrystie."

"Yes, ma'am." Chrystie nodded and, eying Woten with a sudden lack of her tell-tale assuredness, she closed the door.

"I have business to take care of," Elle rose and gathered her suitcase and coat, "I'll think about this, Woten. You know that. For once, I am closer to being in agreement with you."

Elle led the way out of her office as her assistant spotted the familiar, out-of-place look of a journalist down the hall. She lowered her voice and said, "I don't want what's going on in the streets or in the board rooms. But you have to understand that I'm no monarch. I have to please the politicians before the people... and all of them are at each other's throats right now..."

"As things should be, Elle. Otherwise, we'd just be a monarchy again. Frankly, I don't think you realize that even after all this, the people don't always know what's good for them." Woten had hushed his voice after spotting that same journalist.

"As true as that may or may not be, these people are the ones who keep us all in office. We'll discuss this later."

"Over dinner?"

Elle had begun to walk away when Woten made this offer. She felt the beginning of an amused grin rise on the corner of her mouth before she snuffed it away, "I'll think about it."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dulcet Girl<br>**__**| BGM: **vitamin string quartet** — **caribbean blue** | youtu(.)be/oIuYOgjPZCs |**_

Alicia Barbarossa was an uncertain sort of girl, but an all-around ordinary one. She woke up each morning and stepped off of her bed right foot first and then trudged to the bathroom in a sloth like, early-morning daze exacerbated by low blood pressure. In the mirror, puffy cheeks filled with foamy toothpaste, Alicia never quite saw a radiant woman.

She was childlike and freckled, ever so slightly, with clear, colorless eyes that her driver's license listed as grey. Even almost a year later, it boggled her mind that any man had ever called her a goddess or an angel or kissed her freckled thighs with words of devotion. But that was, admittedly, _back then._ No matter how often she found herself dwelling on it or glancing at the framed photograph near her bed. There, surrounded by all of their coworkers, of course—nothing romantic—was that man who towered over her.

There was no one particularly special in her life. She would always go about her early morning chores and routines completely alone, murmuring to herself about these tasks. Then she would be startled by the toaster popping burnt bread or the hiss of boiling coffee spilling over a flooded pot.

Alicia Barbarossa was a clumsy sort of girl, but an all-around ordinary one. Her daily routine was unquestionably monotonous—clean the apartment, study for exams, go over patient files, wait in queues at the bank or grocery store with a silly smile, hum along to music and then spend the day at the hospital aiding the impatient doctors and getting cotton balls thrown at her in pediatrics. Cotton balls being preferable to all sorts of nasty things, such as projectile blood or vomit… that was never pleasant. But oh, did the muck fly in hospitals…

Then, when her shift or classes were over, she would always return home.

Alone.

That photo was there only because it held the smiling faces of all her friends, she vocally reminded herself—often. Not because of that man who had his arm protectively around her waist or eyes that spoke of death should any other man as much as look at her. That photo was there for the coy wink Mystina had and the playful hug from behind that Frei was giving her and the scowling attempt at a smile on Freya's cigarette-pursed lips. None of her friends ever visited her. But that was alright, Alicia mused.

Alicia dressed out of the scrubs and cleaned up. Within a mere twenty minutes, she was dressed for her role as a well-paid dancer at Ragnarok. They were all there—her friends, men who called her beautiful and complimented her admittedly thick thighs. Even _he_ was there, snapping photos for Mystina and slithering about in the shadows. He never looked at her anymore. Not unless he had to, or they crossed paths, or if seeing her and acknowledging her presence was the only way to avoid colliding with her in the halls. But that was alright, Alicia mused.

As much as she missed being loved and needed so reverently, this was for the best. That's what was agreed on.

Alicia arrived in Ragnarok for another long night of empty compliments and emptier smiles. It paid her tuition and put her in a neighborhood she could otherwise never afford. It put her in a place where she had friends that would laugh with her and talk to her about something other than sniffles or lacerations or how she must have _loved_ giving injections or how long that call light was on before she'd arrived.

On that particular night, she noticed that someone wasn't there. Someone radiant… someone who never went unnoticed. Richelle's absence was filled by Atrasia. The other dancers joked that it was a good thing. They said nothing short of "good riddance, about time, don't ever come back"—they _were_ joking, right? Would they say the same about her if she didn't show up one night?

It was difficult not to notice the lack of Ragnarok's most favored dancer. Richelle's long blonde hair had been like a cascade of liquid diamond. It was so fair that in some lights, it shone almost blue. Such a platinum shade! Her skin utterly glowed like the moon and left Alicia looking upon her in shy envy.

"Is… Richelle sick?" Alicia had finally asked during her break.

Frei was mixing up a drink in the middle of that question. It caught her off guard and she flashed Alicia a puzzled expression as she served two pina coladas to a pair of chattering men beside Alicia. As Frei got started on a virgin margarita, she asked,

"You didn't hear? Richelle got the axe."

Alicia did not quite know how to describe what went through her mind. Richelle had never been nice to anyone unless they were paying customers. In fact, it actually made sense that people weren't crying for her loss. But there was also a prick of guilt inside of the introverted young woman.

"Oh… I, um… why?"

Frei shrugged, "I guess Mystina had enough of her. There's only room for one diva around here!"

As the pixie-like bartender giggled, Alicia lowered her head like a puppy who had just been scolded. She lowered her voice and leaned in, "…Frei, I, I think I might have wished this on her. I didn't think it'd actually happen, though!"

"What?"

"I," Alicia stammered, "I hated her."

Frei scoffed, "We all did. And besides, if even _you_ hated her, of all people, then that was probably a deserved hate."

"But I didn't mean to, I mean… I was just upset about…" Alicia trailed off and busied her mouth with a straw. Frei was watching her with wide eyes, hanging on those words and Alicia could only blush with furious embarrassment as the bartender's eyes lit up.

"Lezard?"

Alicia lowered her head just a little more, wishing she could just melt and disappear forever. She nodded. Frei laughed.

"Alicia, Sweetie, don't worry about it! She'll get work elsewhere, I'm sure. Maybe you two will get back together, now? It's been a year, almost?"

"I don't want to get back together. Just because she's not here doesn't mean they're not still an item."

It had been a year. It had been such a lonely year.

Frei shrugged, "Lovie, I don't know what to tell you, then. All I can say is that you gotta keep your chin up. Who knows, maybe it was all for the better. Lezard's…"

The bartender's eyes darted about for a moment, before she said, quietly, "Lezard's a weird guy."

Alicia understood that far better than Frei even knew. But she kept her mouth shut. It even puzzled her that she still craved his carnal kisses and that faint chemical scent of developer and stop-bath. Richelle was probably on the receiving end of that, now. It was a painful thing to watch—the way he doted on her, smiled at her, played with her hair, all the same way he once did with her. At least, now, she wouldn't have to see it all the time. Perhaps, she reasoned, she simply wanted to be needed again.

It had been such a lonely year. Once loved, forever addicted. Habit dropped cold turkey, painfully, but in the long run, she knew, for the better. Few ever thought of her in such a way. Alicia Barbarossa was an ordinary sort of girl.

* * *

><p><strong>{ Lotornomiko! }<strong>  
>Cleoiusss! I'm still loving and following the Dark Drabble series. I want to have a nice long sit down with OSVP. The photo-couch scene, omg, I had actually forgotten about it! It's good that you reminded me because now I want to work it in. Lucian... eh, I'm still not too fond of him, but I try to picture him as Jackson Rathbone and it makes it all just a tad better. Just a tad. And ohmygoodness, Stalkerverse I loved that. So many memories errywhere. All the emotions! XD Glad you're liking it so far and thank you! ^_^ The songs are such a pain in the rear, all of the versions from Lenneth's songbook in the manga were so high school... though I was in high school when I wrote them, haaa~ which explains it. I look forward to fleshing it all out. :3<p>

**{ Miwakochi! }**  
>Miwakochi! I'm always eager for your internet cookies (I see you creepin' on me, girly!) You just can't have Lezard without having him be a creepy stalker. That's the glory of that beautiful creature we know as Lezard Valeth. Claire is doable, yes. We can have some more Claire. I need to figure out how she'll come in, especially since Lucian's not going to go down without a fight. Poor Claire really got the ass-end of things in the game. I want to see her get some justice, y'know? Thank you for reading!<p> 


	3. tea & sacred phase & bottled up

_**~ Tea ~**_

_****_BGM_**_**: **__makoto yoshimori__**— **nyankorasetsu __**| youtu(.)be/PZgI0CyLafg |**_**_

Platina had always been like that; somewhat impatient, somewhat abrasive. It was not that she ever meant any harm. She just didn't notice it when she hurt others—she had a tough shell to crack and rarely ever let people in. Lucian often reminded himself of this when he walked in silence beside Platina. Often, a sidelong glance would escape in her direction and he'd catch her staring straight ahead, as though lost in thought.

The end of her cigarette would light up and then fall dim again as smoke escaped her nostrils. She was still breathing; but her gaze stared straight ahead like a worn and forgotten doll. Platina smiled more when they were younger, even though the calamity had been fresher in their minds. Now, it seemed, she smiled less and less.

Lucian often wondered if he was the cause of that; did she frown more because of him? Was he saying the wrong thing? Was there some message she was trying to convey but unable to give words to? Something was wrong. Something was always wrong.

Platina looked up at him and caught him staring. She was a snake who had snapped faster than the blink of mascara-smudged eyes and she had caught a lowly field mouse in her jaws. There, she held him as the venom sunk in through pearlescent fangs and Lucian could not look away.

"What?"

Lucian shrugged and shook his head, "Nothing."

She hated when he stared. But he couldn't help it—she was as beautiful as she was troubled. His instinct to find that trouble and eradicate it from their life was as hypnotic to him as the way she moved and Lucian would have it no other way.

"Is there something on my face?"

Perhaps it was just the shape of her eyebrows—the way they arched in the upper half of some kind of scowl. Or maybe it was her voice. But she was mad at him. Mad about something. He could tell. Perhaps mad about something else entirely and resenting that he couldn't fix it.

Lucian shook his head.

Platina glanced away, puffing on her cigarette as a tentative expression crossed her face. They continued walking in silence, all while he tumbled over what to ask and how to ask it. Maybe she was waiting for him to say something? He'd known her for over fifteen years and every day felt like the first… for better or for worse.

When he heard light clamor behind him, his fixation with Platina had broken long enough for him to spot a drunk in a parka stumbling over a trash can. Lucian watched the lanky figure tumble head-first, the hood of his parka sweeping down as glasses clattered off of his face and onto the pavement. Before he could stop and help the muttering man, Platina caught his attention.

"Arngrim's going to be pretty upset about Gerald."

Lucian nodded, "Arngrim's always got something to be pissed off about."

Just how drunk was that guy? Lucian watched the drunk's gloved hand shuffle over the ground for his glasses before find them and setting them back upon his face, obscured by the parka.

When they arrived at Arngrim's, they were, in fact, met by a rather upset man. He invited them in with perhaps as much warmth he would have all week before returning to his routine brooding.

"You two again?" He'd growled, "Get in, already. Rufus is in the living room. Gerald is probably off fucking himself somewhere."

Lucian followed Platina into 1121 A Street, a modest little two-bedroom flat shared by Rufus and Arngrim. It always had a peculiar skunk smell from all the weed they smoked in the evenings and the faintest traces of some kind of tea Arngrim had brewing—apricot and white tea this time, Lucian noted. It was an odd sort of life the two men lived; ritualistic "wake and bake" starts to the day, whatever form of work they had—Arngrim had been most consistent with the roofing company he'd worked for… Rufus… something different every month—followed by either garnet binges or whatever else they got their hands on.

The place hadn't changed since he and Platina lived with them in their teens. Those were some chaotic years… he was often surprised he could remember as much as he did. That was back before Platina started doing garnet with Rufus. Rufus still greeted them from a worn-in sofa from which he gave a long, blissful sigh and sucked smoke and bliss from a glass pipe.

His long, wild hair was mostly held back by the rusty-red bandanna he'd worn for the last month. Rufus had a waist-length cascade of dirty blond, almost chlorine green hair. The tall man hailed from somewhere "east of Flenceburg" that he rarely spoke of. Not once since they met five years ago. Lucian had always had the suspicion that Rufus was a refugee from the same kind of nightmare he and Platina had escaped.

"Oh, hey, man, it's you..." Rufus said after taking a deep puff from a pipe in his hand. He ended up coughing a little as he said, with squinted, bloodshot eyes, "You should try this new shit I got. It's pretty good."

After coming to Flenceburg as teenaged orphans, Lucian and the three Brynhilde sisters were in and out of juvenile facilities and scummy foster homes. It was Rufus who they had met during those years, supplying them with garnet, weed, amphetamines, and stolen prescriptions.

For a time, Lucian knew Platina resented Rufus in some way. But since they stopped living together, the two seemed to talk and get high together more than ever.

Platina was good at small talk when she wanted something. He let himself slip into the background with Arngrim as the songstress and the guitarist dove into talk about the "new shit" he'd found through the vine.

"Y'know, though, it's probably better without that asshole around." Arngrim's voice broke Lucian's train of thought. Lucian nodded and followed Arngrim into the kitchen, leaving Platina and Rufus to their philosophies.

"Drummers are a dime a dozen. We'll find a new one. Everyone wants to be in a band." Lucian answered quietly.

Arngrim took a whistling kettle off of the stove and dug through the cabinets for a mug, "I just can't get over that… that nerve, that attitude, that… I mean, the fuck was his problem? Getting all high and mighty on us? You'd think he thought his shit was gold."

Lucian chuckled, "Maybe he did."

"He probably did!" Arngrim exclaimed pouring the tea and filling up another mug.

Lucian waved a hand and said, "No, no, thanks. I'm alright."

"You know what, Lucian? You better shut the fuck up and just drink it, alright? I've had a bad day, I made you some tea, and its motherfucking white and apricot. I do this because I love you, man. Just drink it." Arngrim grumbled.

Lucian swallowed for a moment before shrugging, "Yeah-yeah, sure. Alright. It was cold out, it's… it's, ah… it's tea weather."

"You're damn right it's tea weather."

A smirk rose on Lucian's face—Arngrim's rage was an amusing thing at times. He sipped the tea as Arngrim went on.

"Y'know, maybe this is for the best," Arngrim leaned back against the countertop, "I been thinking about this. About Sleapnear. All this shit with that asshole got me thinkin' about Jelanda again."

Lucian frowned, "Jelanda?"

"Yeah. Jelanda. The kid knew how to play."

"Jelanda's gotta stay in school. I don't want to see her screw up like we all have." Lucian said.

Arngrim nodded impatiently, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I was the one who told her that. I told her to keep her ass in school."

"She's too young to be hanging around us. Or, y'know, we're too old to be hanging around her."

"Well, with Lenneth, it doesn't look so bad, right?"

Lucian scoffed. Was this what he thought it was?

"Look, let's just not bug Jelanda."

"Why not? She's a drummer."

"Because we can find someone else. Someone who won't be cutting class to come play rock star with a bunch of old druggies." Lucian answered in a tart voice.

Arngrim growled and shook his head. He stifled whatever complaint was bubbling up with a sip of tea, but Lucian knew he was formulating some kind of retort. Lucian watched from afar as Platina and Rufus did lines of that scarlet powder between their rather loud discussions. Rufus looked up at Lucian from his spot behind the coffee table—he towered over Platina as though she were a small child.

"Lucian! Lucy, man, you wanna talk about god?"

"Come talk about god!" Platina was grinning from ear to ear and Lucian felt a smile crawl up across his own face. It felt good to see her smiling, hear her laughing… but this was a bittersweet kind of joy. He shook his head and let them go back to their philosophy.

"Think about it, alright?" Arngrim's voice broke Lucian's thoughts.

Think about what? God? Jelanda?

Arngrim pulled out a bag of garnet—the usual stash, and Lucian exchanged it for 5,800 oth. He tucked it into his coat pocket and watched Platina.

"Alright. I'll see if Platina can get a hold of her. Her little sister goes to the same school as Jelanda." Lucian sighed.

"No shit?" Arngrim's brow rose as he paused before another sip, "Are they friends?"

Lucian shook his head and said quietly, certain that Platina was more into her stoned discussion than his voice, "...I don't think Silmeria has a lot of friends."

"What?" Arngrim asked, "...she's hot. She should be one of them popular kids or something."

Lucian bit his lower lip and opted to change the subject, "Just let me handle it, alright? That's what managers do. I think."

_**_| BGM__**: **__makoto yoshimori__**— E no Naka no Shoujo** __**| youtu(.)be/5oMv4yLvUR0 |**_**_

Arngrim scoffed and accepted this answer with a roll of the eyes. Lucian did not know what to make of that. He crossed into the living room and took a seat on the uninhabited sofa, letting himself sink into Platina and Rufus's conversation. Their voices had come down and their words held a slight slur, but they had an odd way of keeping up with each other, even at their highest or lowest states.

"I just don't think there's anything out there… maybe that's arrogant. Maybe I'm just… just too cynical," Platina murmured, leaning back against the sofa, resting her head against Lucian's knee. He smiled and stroked her silver-blonde head.

"What are you gonna do when you find out though? When you die? When you die and you find out that… y'know, there was a god watching you the whole time?" Rufus said, clumsy hands cleaning out his glass pipe. Lucian had taken to staring at it and all of its dyed, blown-glass swirls.

"Call god a voyeur and ask why my life was so rotten."

Rufus laughed, the humor in her words exacerbated by their intoxication, "I think... I think I'm gonna just say hi. Ask 'em if he wants to talk about god."

Platina snorted.

"Boring. It's boring here. Sitting around waiting to die. Waiting to find out. My grams once said life's a book. It's bullshit. It's bullshit… you can skip to the end of a book."

"Who says you can't skip to the end?" Platina murmured.

Rufus grinned, "See if god's there. Or, who knows… aliens. I think aliens could be there. Lenneth… you think aliens are just angels? Or angels are aliens."

He bit his lip and then nodded, speaking in a tone that could only be described as purely Rufus, "…I …think I'm onto something."

"I want..." Platina began with a sigh, "I want someone to tell me I'm wrong. And… believe that. Believe it's not a lie."

"You don't really believe everything though, do you?" Rufus asked.

She was visibly starting to slip away into the haze of echoed words and elongated syllables as the garnet took hold. Platina took a breath before asking, "What?"

"Like, you always write that there's no god," Rufus said, "I... I asked this before didn't I?"

Lucian watched Platina laugh again, "Yeah… you did."

Rufus ran a hand through his greasy, dirty blond locks and then leaned forward over the coffee table. Without looking, he began to fumble over a little hollow porcelain doll—a fairy—and pour more of that glistening scarlet powder across the glass tabletop. As he set up more lines, Lucian felt Platina shift toward Rufus and he held her head down against his thigh covertly. He wasn't about to carry her home so blasted that she'd be high all night.

Platina's numb muscles made another move as Rufus scraped together the garnet and leaned over to suck it all into his nostril through a straw. Lucian narrowed his eyes—he'd been sober more and more lately. The bliss of that divine little trail of garnet was tempting. Almost as tempting as the scent of tobacco smoke after a week without a single light.

He stroked her head and held her down once more. She was too far gone to bark at him.

"I think there's someone watching us," Rufus said as he brushed the powder from his nose. He turned to Platina and Lucian and gazed up at them with pinpoint pupils and widened eyes.

When Lucian realized Rufus was waiting for some kind of response he glanced around. Arngrim's back was turned. Arngrim was muttering under his breath, still—a hushed cacophony of curses. Lucian glanced back at Rufus. Platina went limp and slid down Lucian's leg. He moved to try and catch her, but she slipped from his grasp as Rufus moved closer to him, still watching him with bugged out eyes and a slight quiver to his lower lip.

"You're creeping me out." Lucian murmured.

"They're watching us."

"What?"

"Watching us, waiting on us. I'm gonna go meet them. I'll tell them all about you."

"Who? Shadow people? H-hey, back up, Pl... Platina just," Lucian moved to pick Platina up but Rufus caught his arm. Lucian's temper was suddenly triggered and he met Rufus's emerald gaze with stormy blue. All irate facial cues were lost on Rufus, it seemed.

"…bye."

Lucian stared at him for a long time, his forearm caught in Rufus's large, calloused hand. Finally, he called out, "...Arngriiim!"

For a moment, Lucian had to stop and ask himself if he was high. The sequence of events that followed were surreal. In an instant, Rufus was staring at him stone-faced with the most tripped out look in his eyes he'd ever seen. And then, as though blinking once had caused him to lose out on hours of unseen and unremembered time, there was blood trickling down Rufus's lips and chin.

Trickling was the wrong word.

Raining. Pouring. Cascading. It was coming out of both nostrils, dripping on the carpet with a thick pattering sound. The man's grip on Lucian's arm became painful as he curled over the sofa and buried his face into the worn-in cushions.

"Rufus?"

A gurgling sound came in return. A cough. Heavy breathing. Rufus finally released Lucian's arm and then flopped over onto the floor, leaving a bright crimson trail of blood in his wake. Lucian knew to react, but found that he couldn't do anything but watch his friend begin to tremble.

"SHIT! ARNGRIM!" Lucian called.

Arngrim was already grabbing his car keys as he growled, "That fucking moron. Lucian, help me get him in the car."

"On it," Lucian answered.

It didn't take Arngrim more than ten minutes to reach the hospital and have a convulsing Rufus carried into the emergency room on a stretcher. A small, blonde-haired nurse with an ornate black headband ordered for more adrenaline as Rufus continued to gag.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ Sacred Phase ~<strong>_

_****_BGM_**_**: **__motoi sakuraba— a __stable float __**| youtu(.)be/Xj3nN7mxC_k |**_**_

* * *

><p><em>"Sis, when can we go home?"<em>

_"I'm just so tired of everything. I'm so tired of being awake. I just wish I could go to sleep and dream forever. No one would even notice I was gone."_

_"We're not going to make it out of here alive. I'm sorry."_

_"It's alright. You tried. We'll go together, then."_

All these voices filtered through Lenneth's mind. Quotes from dreams about people she'd never seen before. Voices that always came back to haunt her when she let her guard down. Such sad words. Lenneth often wondered if she simply imagined the voices that reached out to her from beyond that massive emptiness of nonexistence.

A few sobs followed—the last two voices. A man and a woman. They were crying. Then they screamed. And then, there was silence.

Something out of a movie. A bad movie. A bad memory from a bad movie. That's all it was.

When she sucked in a breath and bolted upright, she was in Arngrim's living room. That dead silence clung to the walls like the stains of cigarette smoke on cheap wallpaper. No one was around and everything was worn and coated in a layer of dust. It was as though Lenneth had suddenly woke up on Rufus's couch, of all places, years after some apocalypse.

There was an apocalypse, she thought, in a dream before this. This was one of those dreams again, one of those dreams that tied in to another dream. A saga.

Lenneth climbed to her feet, body light with the empty sort of disembodied-ness that comes with being in a dream.

She peered into the kitchen. Arngrim had left a kettle on a dead stove. Light shone in through the window over the sink, lighting up little flakes of dust in the air. She turned toward the long hallway—bathroom on the left, empty. Just a slightly dirty bachelor's loo with no shower curtains and a cracked porcelain toilet seat. Further up, a split; Arngrim's room to the right. Door locked, as always. Rufus's room to the left. Open. Wood splintered just right of the knob from a fight Rufus had gotten into with Lucian one drunk night two years ago—Lucian had a bump on his head for ages.

She pushed the door open to find another empty room, save for one tall man standing by the window and looking out at the street. Rufus's furniture was gone; his dingy mattress, his bright green dresser with the chipping paint, even his fuzzy red bean bag was gone. There was only Rufus with his back to her.

"Hey… what happened? Where is everyone?" Lenneth asked, "…how long was I out?"

Rufus jumped at her voice and turned to her with a look of genuine confusion on his face, "Lenn?"

"Yeah?" Lenneth asked with more confusion than before.

"What are you doing here?"

"Was I supposed to leave?"

"I…" Rufus laughed and shrugged, "I guess, I mean… everyone else did."

Lenneth peered back into the hall and at Arngrim's door. Everyone really was gone. What sort of post-apocalyptic dream was this?

"Is everyone gone?"

"I think so," Rufus said, turning back to the window. It was open, but no breeze sifted in. Just gold light from a world too bright for her to make out from where she stood. The light made her eyes hurt. Lenneth shielded them and stepped into Rufus's musty room. She crossed over into the shadowed side of the wall beside his window to avoid the sunlight and an unnecessary headache.

"There's people out there, I keep seeing these kids running by. There aren't kids on this street, y'know. One of them stopped and looked at me."

Lenneth watched him in silence before he continued with a shake of the head, "Then they threw a rock at the window and called me a creep."

A laugh escaped her, "You're not a creep."

Lenneth chewed at her lip for a moment, tempted to peek out the window and get a glimpse of what Rufus was seeing. But just looking at the rays of light pouring past him made her head throb.

"I didn't mean to take you with me. I…" Rufus began, his voice cracking slightly, "You shouldn't be here."

"What?"

Rufus balled his fist and looked about ready to punch the window, even raising his arm before letting it settle slowly against the windowsill, "God's out there, Lenneth. I told you I wanted to see if there was a god. That's what I'm here for. I… Lenneth, you need to go back, y'know? Lucian, man, Lucian'll never forgive me for this."

He crossed through the gold rays and put two large hands on her shoulders. He towered over her, but never gave Lenneth anything other than a sense of warmth and welcome. Not even when she first met him as a brooding teenager with dyed-green hair all those years ago. When she saw tears rolling down his cheeks, Lenneth didn't know how to respond—Rufus never cried. Rufus was the funny man. Rufus was the first to laugh and the last to get the joke.

"Will you forgive me?"

Forgive him for what?

Lenneth put her hand upon one of his own and answered softly, "...of course."

Through the tears, Rufus smiled and said, "Thank you, Lenneth. I'll see you when I see you."

A wash of different colored lights flickered all around her. She could see the faint hues; reds, blues, and violets through the skin of her eyelids. When she opened her eyes, she was in another place.

The light was unbearable, like the sun had exploded in the sky, liquefied and stretching all across heaven. Then, like a runny egg yolk being sucked into one place the light pulled itself back into one great gold sphere in the sky.

Lenneth squinted and saw the dark silhouette of a tall, thick girl holding her hand. The girl, no more than twelve, had a veritable oil spill of hair that reached past her waist. She held Lenneth's hand in her own and looked down at her with a face obscured by the bold light behind her.

They were walking. Everything was hot and bright. Lenneth's mouth was dry and tasted bitter. Her throat ached for water, but the only thing that stretched on before them was a vast field with dead grass.

Soon, she would lie down and become the grass.

She would lie down and she would die and she would melt.

Lenneth looked around again. There were mountains in the distance, but they were so far that they looked like mere anthills on the horizon. Then she saw her precious baby sister, Silmeria. Her lips were broken and dry and although her bruised face was twisted up in a muted sob, no tears ran down her dirty cheeks. Silmeria collapsed and clutched the only possession she had left—a singed kobold doll.

She saw Lucian, a little boy at the time, gathering Silmeria up into his arms. His mouth moved, but Lenneth heard no words. Only footsteps on dead grass. Footsteps that echoed for an empty eternity. She knew her sister was going to die.

"Don't cry, you'll dehydrate," their elder sister had scolded on that day. Just how long ago was that day? Did that day ever really happen?

Lenneth's mouth felt like a desert.

"Hey..."

She looked up at the sky and wished for rain. It wouldn't rain. It was the middle of the dry season. The corn fields had failed just days before the firebombs. Her mouth was so dry... Silmeria was going to die.

"Hey… Platina."

Lenneth's eyes opened. Her muscles ached and screamed to release tears, but Lenneth would have none of it. She gripped someone's arm and looked around before realizing where she was. She took a deep breath and felt Lucian stroke her head.

"You alright…?" Lucian asked.

Lenneth nodded, "I'm ok. Just a bad dream... where are we?"

She looked around, realizing she was in the backseat of Arngrim's car. Lenneth cringed at the heavy scent of cheap cigarettes and spilled booze. Her voice cracked as she spoke.

"Where are we?" She repeated.

"We're in a car."

"I know that." Lenneth said, "I know we're in a car. Where is the car?"

"Rufus… Rufus," Lucian began, before pausing. Choked up. What was he choked up about that had to do with Rufus? What was there to be choked up about regarding Rufus? Lenneth felt suddenly sick.

"He had an accident, ah… he's in the hospital. Arngrim got us there. I couldn't leave you, but I couldn't take you in."

"What?" Lenneth snapped upright, "What? What happened? Is he alright?"

"He's awake now, yeah," Lucian said, clearing his throat, "…he actually almost… he was dead. He was actually dead on arrival. They resuscitated him."

That sick feeling increased tenfold.

"…Jammy bastard. Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright, I think, yeah," Lucian explained, "Arngrim's covering for him right now, but he says we need to get out of here while we can."

"What happened anyway?"

Lenneth crawled out of the car after Lucian. A cold breeze hit her like a brick wall. The rain had cleared up, leaving scattered, thick clouds and air like ice. She stumbled for a moment before Lucian caught her in his arms and guided her to her feet. They walked and left the brown sedan and crossed the Saint Ehrde Hospital lot. Lenneth looked back over her shoulder—the tall building was lit up rather angelically with the lavender traces of coming sunrise. It must have been almost five in the morning by her estimate.

"Lucian," Lenneth asked again as the view of the tall, white building became obscured by the tall foliage bordering the sidewalk, "What happened?"

"He talked to us. I don't know if he was still messed up or what. He wasn't just tripping on garnet; Arngrim thinks he was probably doing other stuff before we got there. He..." Lucian paused for a moment as they crossed an empty street.

Lenneth caught sight of a police cruiser headed in the direction of the hospital. She lowered her head and did her best not to look as intoxicated and groggy as she was. But the truth was, despite the amazing high, garnet always left her feeling like she'd been dragged through the bowels of Nifelheim. Hanging on his every word, she listened to Lucian continue when the cruiser disappeared into the foliage-guarded parking lot.

"Rufus tried to kill himself."

"No. He wouldn't… don't lie about that."

"I'm not lying, Platina! Why would I lie about that?"

So that was why he was so shaken… Lenneth felt a sick chill course all the way down to her gut. Rufus was the last person she'd ever suspect to try and hurt himself. He was always smiling and laughing. Never on bad terms with anyone, even Arngrim, whom he practically mooched off of. This wasn't the Rufus she knew.

"He was pissed, Lenneth. He was yelling at everyone for saving him. I've never seen him mad before. Not like that."

"He was probably still messed up. He's going to have one hell of a time detoxing there."

Lucian nodded with a scoffing sound, "I don't doubt that."

Lenneth mulled over Lucian's words. They repeated in her mind like an irritating advertisement jingle. Rufus was trying to kill himself. Trying to kill himself. It couldn't be true. She was still dreaming, wasn't she?

He had always been so happy.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ Bottled Up ~<strong>_

_****_BGM_**_**: **__makoto yoshimori__**— Binzume no Tenshi **__**| youtu(.)be/Jmyl-TjHo2k |**_**_

* * *

><p>Rufus's nostril itched from all the cotton he'd stuffed into it. But strangely enough, that was alright. After all the shouting from Arngrim. After all of the griping he'd done about waking up under a large fluorescent light like a sentient chicken wing under a heat lamp… somehow, things felt a little closer to being alright.<p>

He almost couldn't believe how miserable he'd felt that morning.

Rufus stared past the end of his bed at a small-framed, but pleasantly plump sort of nurse. She looked too young to be working there. Her face had more than a fair share of baby fat. Occasionally, she would glance up from her clipboard at him with large ocean eyes and then quickly flit back to scribbling notes.

She probably didn't care too much for him. The poor thing had looked terrified when he came back into the world screaming at everyone around him. In fact, she probably didn't appreciate the way he'd lost his dinner on her between seizing up and feeling like the world was spinning itself into oblivion.

That wave of sickness still lulled through his guts like a tide sloshing up and down a beach. But even that didn't bother him so much anymore. It was that full body ache that was only going to get worse as the night progressed that gripped him. It would wring him dry until as much poison was siphoned out of his body as possible… and then… a three day hold. Followed by everything else he didn't want to think about.

"Feeling better?" The nurse squeaked.

Did she just squeak?

Did she just speak?

Rufus stared at her for a moment, brain taking its sweet time in translating and registering what she'd said before comprehension washed over his face in the form of a smile. He tugged a blood soaked cotton swab from his right nostril.

"I'm alright. Yeah. Thanks."

"You should get some sleep." The nurse suggested. At that point, Rufus caught the name on her tag—Alicia. Somehow, attaching that name to that soft face just clicked in his mind. Everything wasn't so bad when little miss Alicia was around. Since when had he gained a nurse fetish?

"…if… if you need someone to talk to, y'know, you can talk to people. I mean, err," Alicia stammered and seemed to twiddle her fingers over the tip of the clipboard, "There are people who will listen. Life… life just sucks sometimes, you know? But, um… you don't have to go it alone. Bottle everything up."

Rufus was silent. Just what did she know about life sucking? She was beautiful and sweet. The world probably just handed everything to her. Hell, he would have gladly handed everything to a girl like her.

Alicia looked up at him once again, wide-eyes, caught like a deer in headlights. Her attempt at communicating was not lost on Rufus, but he honestly had no idea what to say. Was she asking him to talk about his feelings?

Good thing Arngrim wasn't there. He would have never lived it down.

"What I mean, is," She averted her gaze this time, seeming to pick up confidence off the countertop nearby, "…well, I heard what you were saying earlier. About wanting to die. You don't have to."

"Everyone dies," Rufus answered.

The nurse looked as though her argument had been shot in both kneecaps right out from under her. A hesitant expression fell over her before she continued.

"But not everyone does it like that. Some people go on to live really long and happy lives. Something hurts today but it won't always hurt tomorrow."

Too optimistic for her own good, Rufus thought. He reclined in the bed and fixed his attention on the fluorescent light overhead. Maybe sleep would be better. Enjoy what he could get now before the brunt of the detox kicked in.

"Sorry. I'll check in on you a bit later. Just… think about it, alright? People aren't made to be in pain. That goes for your head too. If something hurts… it's okay to say something."

"People don't really listen. They're more concerned with their own aches and pains."

"Not everyone," the nurse smiled a weak and timid sort of smile before adding, "I'll listen."

Rufus found himself at a loss. Why would a complete stranger even care? Why would they even want to listen? There was always some kind of catch, but thinking about this cute girl with ulterior motives felt wrong in a number of ways. She seemed honest enough. Earnest, even. But it still boggled his mind that someone would want to hear him out and think it'd change his mind. What good would it even do? He'd just be leaving a stain on a clean white sheet before hopping off into the next life.

He said nothing and shut his eyes. The nurse remained for a moment before making a silent exit. She would be there in the morning. Rufus had three days under observation to look forward to. Three miserable days.

"…fucking Arngrim," Rufus murmured as he rubbed at his eyes.


End file.
